Living the Good Death

by Scott Baron

  The waitress arched an eyebrow and flashed an amused smile.

  “Death, huh? Ah, you crazy Goth kids. I’m Angela. Come on, let’s get you inside and get you warm.”

  “B-b-but-t-t I—“

  “No arguing. Hurry up, before you catch your death of cold.”

  As she stepped from her nook beside the trash bin and moved toward the light of the open door, the girl could feel the warm air flowing out invitingly.

  Well, at least it’ll be warmer in there, whatever happens, she thought, then followed the woman through the door.

  CHAPTER 3

  Walking out of the cold, dark alley and into the warm restaurant sent a wave of comfort over the girl’s tired body.

  The diner was a fifties-themed throwback, but unlike so many of the ill-conceived and gimmicky failed attempts out there, this establishment was tastefully done. The chrome was polished to an immaculate shine, as were the floors and countertops. The deep-red vinyl seating and cushions in the booths lacked the duct tape repairs so often found in the more greasy spoon variety of all-night establishments.

  A modern jukebox played quietly in the background, stocking a mix of both new and older songs, to satisfy a diverse crowd. A few neon signs lit the windows, casting a warm glow from their reflection across the interior spaces.

  All in all, it was a cozy place that would be pretty hard not to like. Especially hard if you had been uncomfortably squatting in a dark alley, damn near freezing, just minutes before.

  It was getting late, and though it was a twenty-four-hour joint, the diner was mostly empty. An older couple sat together in a booth, sharing a bowl of soup and a sandwich between them, and an attractive, thirtyish, brown-haired man sat by himself at the counter, slowly savoring a plate of pie and nursing a hot cup of coffee as he leisurely worked his way through a crossword puzzle.

  The kindly waitress led the chilled young woman to a welcoming spot in the back of the restaurant. The girl slid into the booth and sank back against the cushioned vinyl, almost immediately feeling the muscles in her sore legs slowly start to relax.

  “Take a load off. I’ll grab you something warm to cut that chill.”

  The girl who thought she was Death didn’t say anything as she simply enjoyed being warm for the first time in hours.

  I can’t believe how tired my feet feel, she thought as she pondered the aching pulse in her boots.

  Angela left the girl to unwind for a moment and collect herself, casually strolling back behind the counter to get the poor girl something warm to drink.

  In the full light of the diner, the girl was able to get a better look at the woman whose kindness had given her a much-needed break from what had been a really crap day.

  Why did she help me? She doesn’t know me. This makes no sense.

  In no time at all Angela returned to the booth, a cup of steaming hot coffee in hand. She set it in front of the girl and squatted next to the table.

  “Here,” she said. “This oughta warm you up. I’ve gotta warn you, though, we make our coffee pretty strong, so you might want to cut it with some milk. Probably a lot, actually. There’s also half & half and sugar if you want.”

  “Thank you,” the girl replied.

  “Glad to help. I’ll be back in a minute. Gotta check on my regulars,” she replied, gesturing to the man at the counter as she stood up.

  The girl in black picked up the mug and cradled the warm porcelain in her chilled hands, feeling the heat slowly bring her fingers back to life.

  Oh, that is so much better.

  Lifting the cup to her lips, she sniffed the aromatic steam wafting up from the mug, then carefully sipped at the murky brew. She quickly recoiled from both the bitterness and heat.

  She said to add milk and sugar. Maybe that will help.

  Angela had left a good bit of room in the cup for milk, as if she knew it would take a fair amount of doctoring to achieve a palatable mix, so the girl heeded her advice and poured liberally until the formerly black beverage became an appealing caramel color.

  As the milk flowed, she found herself staring into the mug, fascinated by the psychedelic, lava lamp patterns it made as it swirled and mixed with the coffee. Watching the whirling patterns as they formed in the cup, she didn’t know why, but her body relaxed just a bit.

  A caffeinated meditation of sorts.

  After a few moments, the milk had blended entirely, and she felt it likely that the temperature was reduced and the bitterness cut enough for another try. She lifted the mug to her lips and took another cautious sip.

  Just like Goldilocks, she found the cup now was indeed just right, and she savored the warm liquid as it rolled over her tongue before finally swallowing it, feeling the warmth trickle and spread down her throat, heating her from the inside out.

  Oh, this is divine. This sensation…

  She took another sip. More of a gulp really, quickly followed by another, and in no time she found her cup empty, just as Angela approached with a full pot in hand.

  “Hey, let me fill that up for you.”

  “This is amazing. The sensation, the heat. Thank you!”

  “You’re welcome, hon. Now you just relax and warm your bones and I’ll come check on you in a bit.”

  Angela walked back behind the counter, stopping for a moment to chat with Randy, the brown-haired fellow, who happened to also be one of her favorite regulars. She topped off his cup of coffee while he happily polished off his last few bites of apple pie.

  The pie was an unusual one, a signature dish, as it had a nice Gruyere cheese baked into the crust. One of the pie-maker’s assistant’s specialties he’d developed a fondness for.

  Randy was absentmindedly skimming through an arts magazine while doing his crossword puzzle, scoping out exhibits across the country with a casual flip of the page in between across and down clues.

  In addition to his affinity for good pastry, he was also a gallery director, and something of a rising-star in the local art scene. He’d been away for some time, having fallen victim to a drunken depression a few years back, but had finally cleaned up and moved home, returning to the art game he loved.

  “Hey, Angie, who’s the girl?” he asked, blowing the steam off his freshened cup.

  “Stray. I found her curled up out back, looking all cold and miserable. Couldn’t just leave the poor thing there.”

  “She doesn’t look homeless.”

  “Nah, seems like a good enough kid. Probably just down on her luck.”

  “I know how that can be.”

  “Don’t we all? Still, there’s something a little odd about her. Not bad, just something I can’t quite put my finger on.”

  Angela did not fail to notice his repeated glances across the diner.

  “You think she’s cute? You should go say hi. I’m sure she could use some company, and when’s the last time you talked to a girl, anyway?”

  He blushed, caught looking. “I don’t know, Angie. I’m really not—”

  “Hey, you’ve gotta get back in the saddle someday,” she said as she picked up her coffeepot and walked away. “Think about it.”

  He had made the diner his home away from home since he’d returned to town nearly a year earlier, and spent most evenings there, even if just for coffee and company. He and Angela had developed a particularly sound waitress/regular friendship in that time, one that was solid enough, in fact, that he was inclined to take her advice to heart from time to time.

  After Angela headed back to the kitchen, Randy found that, much to his surprise, he was actually considering taking her advice and going over to talk to the girl in black.

  For most men the prospect of talking to a pretty girl would find them halfway across the room at the merest hint of an opportunity, but the sad circumstances of his romantic past had left him jaded, reclusive, and mostly disinterested in women. At least, that was, until now.

  He glanced over at her again, quietly psyching himself up as he tried to figure how best t
o make an approach. Butterflies hatched in his stomach, fluttering their wings as he realized just how long it had been since he’d actually chatted up a girl. It was a thought that spurred a bout of approach anxiety he hadn’t felt since he was a teenager as he imagined all the things that could go wrong.

  “Should I go talk to her?” he muttered under his breath. “Oh, come on Randy, when’s the last time you even thought someone was worth approaching? Don’t sit here procrastinating. The worst that can happen is she’ll say no. Come on, this is stupid. You’re a grown man, get off your ass and go talk to the girl!”

  His self-pep talk seemed to light at least a small fire of hope in his chest. Quickly, before he could let any doubt build up again, he put his fork down, abandoning the final bite of pie on his plate, and purposefully walked across the polished checkered floor to her booth.

  As he had neared her table, he noticed she had absentmindedly arranged the silverware by size, though she didn’t seem aware she’d done it. Really, she didn’t seem too aware of anything, so deep in thought she appeared.

  Too late to turn back now, he realized. With the most confident smile he could manage, he slid into the seat across from her and, despite his nerves, did his best to play it cool.

  “Hey, there. I saw you sitting over here by yourself and thought you might like some company. I’m Randy.”

  The girl seemed to not hear him at first, her eyes unfocused and lost in thought.

  So I feel heat, I feel cold, people can touch me. How did this happen? Wait, who is this man talking to me?

  Her gaze suddenly focused on him as she snapped out of wherever her mind had been wandering.

  “How… why are you talking to me?” she asked, confused.

  “Well, I—”

  “How can… why can you see me? Can everyone now?” She seemed perplexed. Not by his approach, per se, but by some thought still ricocheting around in her head like a hi-bounce ball dropped from a great height.

  “Well, I saw you from across the room…”

  He thought she was acting a bit strange, but then a flash of panic hit him as he wondered if he had come on a bit strong. Unsure of the best move, he froze, sitting quietly, flashing his best non-threatening smile while he tried to figure out what damage control he might need to recover from his botched approach.

  For all his worrying, the girl in black didn’t seem to notice, and simply took another sip of coffee, pondering the warm cup cradled in her hands.

  “This is coffee,” she said in an almost dreamy tone. “It’s so hot. Heat, I mean. Why heat? I can feel heat.”

  “Well, I know it’s really cold out tonight,” he said, realizing perhaps he hadn’t messed up so badly as he first thought. “Listen, I know we just met, but you seem nice and, um, well, we’re both here alone, so, um, can I maybe buy you some dinner?”

  She slowly turned her gaze on him, an uneasy look flickering across her face while she processed his words. “I don’t eat. I am—”

  Suddenly a wave of sharp pins rippled through her belly. Confused, the girl involuntarily doubled over as she cramped up.

  What just happened?

  “I feel—what is—the pain…” She looked around, bewildered. Had she poisoned herself? The only thing on the table was the mug in front of her. “But I only had these few cups of coffee,” she said, confused.

  Randy smiled a sympathetic grin, commiserating and knowing full well what she’d unintentionally fallen victim to. It had taken him quite a while to develop his tolerance to the coffee in this joint, and as tired and worn-out as this girl looked, it was no wonder she experienced a strong reaction to it, especially having overindulged as she had.

  “Yeah, the coffee’s pretty strong here,” he said. “Takes some getting used to. The ladies’ room is right down that hall if you need it.” He pointed toward the restrooms.

  She looked at him, her watering eyes briefly holding his gaze for a moment. She was finally beginning to see him clearly as she processed what he told her, when another cramp hit. Her guts twisted painfully inside her, and she felt a strange and urgent sensation.

  She lurched to her feet and bolted for the bathroom, instinct taking control and guiding her flight. The girl moved as quickly as she could, given her situation, but to her eyes, the formerly short hallway now seemed to stretch on forever, her acute discomfort and sense of increasing urgency making every step agony.

  From behind the counter Angela observed her friend’s brief exchange, along with the girl’s rapid retreat to the restrooms. She looked at Randy and raised a curious eyebrow as she strolled over to the booth he now occupied alone.

  “Made a new friend, I see.”

  He sniffed his armpits exaggeratedly. “I even showered this week. Too bad, pretty girl.”

  He shrugged, letting it go. He was actually rather bummed at the way things had turned out. For some reason he couldn’t put his finger on, he felt a visceral draw to the odd young woman. He hadn’t felt that since, well, ever really.

  Must be pheromones, that’s all, he thought to himself, then dug in his pocket and glanced at the time on his antique blue enamel pocket watch.

  “Okay, I guess I might as well head home,” Randy said as he rose to his feet. He pulled out his wallet and paid his check, then thought about it for a moment and handed another few bills to Angela.

  “Hey, when she comes back, get her whatever she wants on me, okay?”

  “You got it, hon. You sure you don’t want to stick around?”

  “Nah, that went pretty sideways on me. Anyway, I’ll see ya tomorrow, Ange.”

  He leaned over and gave his friend a quick hug and headed for the door, pausing for just a moment to look back toward the women’s room before stepping out into the chilly night air.

  Meanwhile, in the restroom, the young woman’s surprising sense of urgency was greeted with an overwhelming feeling of relief as the girl who thought she was Death instinctively dropped her pants and flopped down on the seat, letting loose what felt like a fire hose stream as she emptied her bladder.

  The discomfort was great, but the relief was even greater, so much so that she didn’t even notice the assorted jokes, phone numbers, and dirty drawings gracing the walls around her, as focused as she was on her bodily functions.

  As the pain slowly yet steadily faded from her belly, her initial expression of shock and disgust at what her body had just done slowly changed to a smile as the terrible cramping finally subsided.

  That was horrible. Horrible, but I feel so much better now. She sighed. I hope this isn’t a regular thing.

  Gathering herself, she cleaned up and unsteadily headed back to her booth, a few liters lighter, but a whole lot more comfortable.

  The old couple had finished their meal and departed just after Randy, so with no customers left in the diner, Angela sat in the booth, resting her feet, when the girl returned. Angie noticed that while she looked a bit pale and shaky, she seemed otherwise all right.

  “You okay, hon?”

  “The pain was… well… That was pain? Huh. Pain.”

  Ignoring the slightly odd response, Angela looked at her apologetically.

  “Yeah, our coffee is pretty strong. Sorry about that. I refill on autopilot. I really should have warned you better.”

  “It was disgusting. Disgusting yet so relieving. But the pain, it’s gone now.”

  “Well, listen, hon, Randy’s buying you dinner, so whatever you want, it’s covered.”

  “Dinner?” she asked, a bit unsure what to do.

  “Yeah, that sweet guy you left sitting here all confused? Dinner’s on him. I know you’ve gotta be hungry. What are you in the mood for?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “If you want, I can make some suggestions.”

  Thoroughly sated, the girl who thought she was Death sat in her booth and picked at the mélange of scraps remaining on the plates scattered in front of her. Not sure which of Angela’s suggestions to try, she had sampled an
assortment of different things. Sweet and savory, fried, broiled, steamed, and grilled, all of which she had tucked into with the enthusiasm one would expect of someone eating either her very first, or her very last meal.

  Angela surveyed the aftermath spread across the table with amazement as the girl looked up at her, quite full and with gratitude in her bright gray eyes.

  “Incredible,” she said, suppressing a belch. “Thank you.”

  “Wow, I guess you really were hungry after all.” Angela picked up several dishes and headed back to the kitchen, amused at just how much that girl managed to pack into her slender frame.

  “Ah, youth.” She laughed to herself as she pushed through the kitchen doors.

  The girl sat there in her booth for a moment, mellow in the carb-and-fat-fueled glow of a satisfying food coma. She was content, amazed at all the goodness she just experienced, when she felt an unexpected rumble in her belly. A distressed, queasy look flashed across her face.

  Oh no, not again! she thought, but then noticed this sensation was something different than before. This is—I feel—oh, now what?

  Sensing that something was definitely not right, she bolted down the hall once more, making a beeline to the ladies’ room.

  Several minutes later, looking quite drained and wobbly, she made her way back to the booth. Her eyes were a little bloodshot and watery, and her nose was running a bit as well. The girl actually looked paler, if that was possible, as she lowered herself into her seat.

  She grabbed a handful of napkins from the chrome dispenser on the table and unceremoniously wiped her nose, which triggered a bit of a coughing fit, strong enough that it caught Angela’s attention. The girl coughed a few more times, then slowly drank a mouthful of the ice water sitting on her table, the condensation ring staring back from where the glass had sat.

  That was horrible. I feel like I’ve just lost half my insides, the girl thought and grimaced to herself.

  “You know, it’s not worth it,” Angela said, eyeballing her.

  She had put down her side work and quietly returned to check on her wayward stray. She hovered at the table, looking the girl over with a concerned gaze. Something flashed behind her eyes as she studied the slender girl. A glimmer of a pain long forgotten.